


A Maladpative Escape of Sorts

by saccharinepeccadillo



Category: Rick and Morty
Genre: Angst, Bad Decisions, Drinking, Drugs, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Sex, Mentions of Slavery, Other, Partying, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide, but rick especially, look at me shoving my problems onto fictional characters yet again, mentions of birdperson squanchy and beth, mentions of prostition, rick makes bad decisions, suicidal rick, they all have problems, theyre all suicidal, vent fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-07
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-09-22 16:16:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9615614
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saccharinepeccadillo/pseuds/saccharinepeccadillo
Summary: This is shorter than i wanted it to be but who knows, maybe ill add to it someday??Rick makes bad decisions, his grandkids arent amused





	

It had been a particularly bad day for Rick. On their most recent adventure, Morty had very nearly been kidnapped and ransomed off by some hostile aliens they'd run into, Morty and he only escaping by the skin of their teeth and without the things Rick had come for in the first place. Rick could still hear the aliens talking while manhandling Morty, discussing whether Morty would be better as a prostitute or as slave labor. Rick had been particularly happy to shoot those two in particular. Afterwards on the car ride home, Rick had stupidly yelled at Morty about being more careful, blaming him for ruining Ricks chance to get the loot. He wasn't actually angry, if anything he was trying to cover up the fact that he had been scared, terrified that he would lose Morty or that someone would hurt his grandson. Rick couldn't even remember what he had gone to get from the planet, some plant or substance to help move along one of his newer inventions, something he could've easily gotten anywhere else. Morty had argued back at him, something he had begun to do more and more lately, and Rick didn't know whether to be proud or worried. When they had gotten home Morty had stormed upstairs and slammed his door shut, leaving Rick alone and to his own devices. At first, he had tried to preoccupy himself with his workshop, crafting and experimenting, but after a while it became boring to him. He needed something that would get his blood pumping and his heart racing, something that would distract him from his thoughts and the pain he so desperately tried to hide. That night was especially bad, the incident with Morty making memories of his own close calls and failures come flooding back to him. A little bar he had seen a couple times in passing popped into his mind, it wasn't too far away from the house, but far away enough to make accidental encounters with his family unlikely. Sure, he could get wasted on his own, but bars brought the social aspect, and for Rick, being social always led to the most fun (and dangerous) kind of trouble. And fuck, was he craving trouble right about then.

As he was grabbing his car keys from the kitchen, he passed Summer. She was glaring at him, making him uneasy. It wasn't like her to stare, or even pay attention to him except for the quick acknowledgement of his presence. He stopped in his tracks and stared back at her, trying to come off as intimidating and hoping that she wouldn't ask any questions. It failed of course, Summer was too much like him, too much in tune with what he was thinking and feeling. "Going somewhere grandpa?" Guilt washed over him, already knowing he'd regret what he was about to do, but he grunted an affirmative, still locking eyes with her but desperately feeling the need to look away in shame. She hopped up off the couch and dusted herself off, despite not having been eating anything. A nervous habit, Rick realized, but he didn't know what to make of it. "Where are we going?" He finally allowed himself to look away, heading back towards the garage. "You aren't coming this time summer, this is a solo mission." He had made it to the garage doorway when Summer said his name, saying it in a way that sent chills down his spine and made his blood run cold. It reminded him of every other time he had tried to run and loved ones confronting him. He froze, not turning towards her but not leaving either. She knew exactly what he was doing, where he was going, but he held onto the shred of hope that perhaps she didn't. "Don't do anything stupid." It was a plea and a threat all in one, wrenching Ricks heart out of his chest. He smirked at her, disgusting himself with how easy it was now for him to do this. New dance partner, old dance. "You're not my mom." And with that he was gone, leaving Summer alone.

 

Three bar hops, two drug filled house parties and a quick and loveless fuck in an alley later, and Rick had decided he'd had enough for the night. It hadn’t been one incident that had driven him to calling it quits, but a few. The final straw however had been the young boy (he could’ve been anywhere between 18 to 35, but Rick had a feeling it was too low for comfort) who had started to flirt with him and grind on him at the second house party. His brown hair and white sneakers had reminded Rick too much of Morty, and with nausea starting to roil in his gut he had rudely shoved the boy off and hurried off to the kitchen to find more booze. High as a kite, considerably more drunk than usual, and disgusted, he caught a girl with a red ponytail staring accusingly at him, red cup clutched in her hand. Without saying a word to the acquaintances he had made throughout the night, he slipped out of the house, listening to the vibrations get more and more quiet behind him before he couldn't hear it at all. He had left his car back at the first bar he'd hit, opting instead to walk with the people he'd befriended over drinks, and then later over drugs. He stumbled through back alley after back alley, avoiding main streets as to not draw attention to himself. Not that it would matter if he did, very few people would call the cops on some drunk old geezer wandering around, and if they did Rick could easily evade them. It was the looks he knew he'd get, the looks like the redhead at the party had given him and that Summer had given him. The effects of whatever drug he'd gotten his hands on earlier was starting to wear off, making the cold night air seem all the more cold and painful. He was halfway to his car when he felt eyes on him, and momentary panic shot up his back. He had been careless, he realized, letting his guard down. It didn't matter too much to him though, he realized that this was exactly what he had been looking for. For a good time he looked for stimulants and debauchery, but for a great time his tried and true method was simply to brawl. One of the people who had been closing in on him started talking, some threat about being on the wrong turf. Rick had heard it all before, from his glory days with Birdperson and Squanchy to drug and weapon deals gone sour. "You do too much talking, hombre." He slurred out, watching gleefully as the assured expression of his opponent falter. Rick threw the first punch, everything erupting into chaos. Immediately two other people were on him, and he felt a fourth person waiting in the shadows for a chance to catch him if he tried to flee. Rick easily shoved the assailants off, fending them off easily yet gaining morbid satisfaction when he wasn't able to block a punch. He lost himself in it, as if in a trance, and felt more high then he'd felt all night. He felt himself faltering more and more, and wondered if this was the time he'd let himself get killed. In some back alley, having gotten into a fight with the wrong gang. He thought about how he was always too scared to do it himself, too hopeful. He talked a big game, but at the end of the day he was just too much of a lonely coward to go through with it. But this was different, he was out of shape and the assailants were gaining the upper hand. It would be so easy, he realized, just letting himself slip up more and more until-

The sound of what could possibly be a car coming up and screeching to a halt in front of them snapped him out of his thoughts. Two of the thugs both had a hold on his arms, and a third and fourth had been abusing his head and neck, but they all froze at the sound. The thugs slowly let their grips loosen on Rick, but as Rick stared at the headlights of the obnoxiously pink car that had driven up, he realized he'd seen it somewhere before. Dread washed over him.

Summer and Morty got out of the car, both holding what seemed to be weapons, and Rick came to the realization that he was going to be in such deep shit. "Drop the old man and leave, now!" Summer yelled, much like how a cop would yell at an armed suspect, authority and determination in her voice. The thugs hesitated, looking at each other for affirmation. Before they could decide whether they wanted to retaliate or do as Summer said, Morty unexpectedly fired his gun and hit one of them in the shoulder. The attacker cried out in pain, grabbing the wound and backing down the alley. The others quickly followed suit, yelling behind their backs how this wasn't the last of it. After they had disappeared, Rick turned towards his grandchildren, suddenly infuriated by their intervention. "What the fuck are you-you two doing here?!" He yelled, waving an accusatory finger at both of them. "Are those my- are those my fucking guns?" He charged forward and yanked Morty’s gun out of his hands, inspecting it briefly and finding it to be one of his own laser pistols. "You shits stole my guns!" He spun around to face Summer, feeling his anger boiling. "What the fuck are you doing here, Summer." He repeated, this time in a low growl. Summer didn’t look away, instead locking eyes with him much like she had in the living room, and raising her chin in defiance. "I had a feeling you'd go and do something stupid like that." She stepped forward, painfully jabbing a finger into Ricks chest, but he fought the urge to flinch. "So, I should be asking you what you're doing here." 

"Th-that's none of either of your businesses. Can't a man do what-what he wants? What about free will and all that shit, huh?" Rick pocketed the gun he had taken from Morty and started walking back in the direction he thought his car was. "Anyway, I gotta-i gotta go, I'll s-see you two knuckleheads on the flip side." He heard hurried footsteps behind him, expecting one or both to run in front of him to block him. Instead, he felt fingers grabbing his shoulder and turning him around, dragging him down by the fabric. Before he could pull away, Morty punched him in the jaw, strongly enough to topple Rick back onto the ground. Rick looked up in shock to see his grandson with rage in his eyes. Morty reached forward and lifted Rick up by his shirt front, too surprised to do anything but gawk at his grandson and hold his injured cheek. "Y-you aren't going anywhere." Before Morty could punch Rick again, Summer came up behind Morty and put her hand on his shoulder. After a second of them staring at each other, he dropped Rick, who tried to hide his sigh of relief. Summer held out her hand and helped Rick stand back up, smirking a little. "You kind of deserved that, grandpa Rick." Her face became serious again all too quickly. "What the hell were you thinking? You could've died." Rick spluttered out a laugh. Of all the things to be worried about, she chose that? "I was handling it just fine, I'm not a wimp like you two." He reached into his coat for his flask, muttering, "And so what if I die?" Both grandchildren looked off to the side, both looking guilty, which surprised Rick. What were they hiding? Before he could ask them about their strange reactions, Morty looked back at him, his eyes hard but looking hurt too. "D-don’t say that shit, Rick." Tears were brimming in his eyes, and Summer looked like she was close behind. Morty stepped forward and hugged him, burying his face into Ricks shirt. It startled Rick, it almost scared him in fact, seeing his grandson go from enraged to panicking so quickly. "C-c-cuz if I can't d-die, and Summer c-can't die, then-" Morty stopped, and Rick knew that if he had pushed himself to talk any more he would've broken down. Rick began to feel sick, realizing that he wasn't the only one with suicidal thoughts, starting to break down at the thought of his grandchildren dealing with the same demons. Summer was hugging him then too, squeezing him tightly. "You scared us, Grandpa Rick. We were so worried about you." Morty had started to shake, and Summer's fingers were gripping Ricks coat. Sadness overtook him, thinking back to all the mistakes he'd made that night, how he wouldn't be able to live with himself if his grandkids learned what he'd done and what his motives had been. How selfish he'd been to think he could abandon his loved ones, how he never showed them how much he appreciates them. He thought about how Beth was on the same track as him, and in a fit of panic he realized it could easily happen to either of his beloved grandchildren. 

Perhaps it had already started, and the thought of Summer or Morty doing even half the things he'd done in his youth made him feel like throwing up. What if they were doing them? He didn't know how, but he vowed to himself to try and help them. 

Hesitantly, he wrapped an arm around each one, pulling them close. "You-you know what? I can get my car tomorrow. Let's go home." 

Rick didn't know just how much his grandchildren were suffering, (and by god, were they suffering,) but that night it did not matter. All that mattered to the three of them that night was that they were all still alive and together.


End file.
